


Time for Tea

by silverfoxstole



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxstole/pseuds/silverfoxstole
Summary: After encountering cows on Caerdroia, C'rizz finds out about milk. Sort of.





	Time for Tea

“What is _that_?”

Charley paused in her search of the kitchen cupboards to glance around the room. The Doctor, pottering about near the stove and humming to himself as he set out cups and saucers, typically didn’t appear to have even heard C’rizz’s question. Charley couldn’t help smiling fondly as she watched him take a delicate pair of sugar tongs from a drawer and lay them down gently next to the equally fine china; after so long having to tiptoe around him, always on edge in case she might be faced once more with that dark side he’d always kept so well-hidden, the one she’d not even begun to imagine he had until the advent of Zagreus and never wanted to see again, it was an almost incalculable relief to see him happy once more. The effect the TARDIS had upon his personality was really quite incredible, she reflected; C’rizz had been rather thrown by it, having until now known the Doctor mostly as the moody, grumpy, sarcastic individual he’d become in the Divergent universe, with the ‘Eeyore’ side of him, as she’d dubbed it on Caerdroia, well to the fore. Charley could only hope that those days were finally behind them.

That thought drew her attention back to the table, where their Eutermesan friend sat peering at an innocent bottle of milk with far more suspicion than it warranted. She had to admit that C’rizz currently did look somewhat out of place there in the ordinary little room, hunched on a chair that was slightly too small for him, his skin blending half into the walls and half the jumper and slacks she’d found him from the wardrobe. He was staring at the bottle so intently that there was every chance the glass might shatter under the force of his gaze.

“It’s all right, C’rizz,” Charley told him, amused. “It’s a just a milk bottle. It’s for the tea.”

“Milk... you mentioned that before. On Caerdroia, with the... cows.” Now there was trepidation in his tone, and she tried not to laugh as he backed away, scooting his chair across the faded linoleum with a horrible squeak that finally broke the Doctor from his operatic trance just as the kettle boiled. The resultant high-pitched whistling startled C’rizz even more; he leapt out of his seat altogether, across the room in three quick strides, fists clenched and eyes darting back and forth, searching for the source of the threat. “What’s that?” he demanded. “What’s that terrible noise? Is it something to do with the ship? Are we under attack?”

“No, no, no, you’re quite safe; it’s just the kettle,” the Doctor soothed, picking up the offending item and removing it from the heat. The whistling stopped and after a few moments C’rizz visibly relaxed. “Sit down; the tea’s nearly ready.”

C’rizz eyed him askance before slowly doing as he was told; righting the chair he’d knocked over in his haste to escape the boiling kettle. “I don’t think I understand all of this, Doctor. So many necessary objects and ingredients... is this ‘tea’ of yours some kind of ritual?”

The Time Lord raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you could say that. In some Earth cultures it is, certainly. The Japanese, for example, take it very seriously. Some of their ceremonies last for hours, you know, depending on the type of tea and the season. The Chinese are very big on detail, too, and they’ll even invite you to smell the leaves before they start the complicated process of brewing. It’s quite an experience.” Charley opened her mouth to interject but it was clear the Doctor was warming to his theme at the same time as he warmed the pot. “In Thailand they prefer it iced and the Malaysians used condensed milk which is unusual. The man who made me the most marvellous cup there once almost seemed to dance; they pour it back and forth between glasses, you see, to cool the air and make it wonderfully frothy. He didn’t lose a drop! Oh, and you’ll get an amazing kind of tea called Noon Chai in Pakistan; it’s bright pink! The Tibetans like to put Yak butter in theirs, but to be honest I’m not quite so sure about that one.” He glanced over his shoulder at Charley and added with a wink, “Of course, the English have their own rituals, too, especially in Charley’s time. Cucumber sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam, croquet on the lawn...”

“Oh, _scones_... we used to have the most wonderful scones at tea time,” Charley groaned, her mouth watering at the thought. “I can’t remember the last time I had clotted cream. Or jam. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to taste the first strawberries of the season..!”

“Yes, indeed. You know, I’ve had odd dreams recently about smoked salmon and Dundee cake.” The Doctor looked quite wistful for a second before appearing to mentally shake himself. “I think we may have to make a visit to a Lyons Corner House, though C’rizz might alarm the staff a little; they were bad enough when I turned up with K9. Did you find those chocolate biscuits?”

“I don’t think you bought any the last time we stopped at one of those supermarket things. That seems like decades ago.” She stood on her toes, stretching her arm right to the back of the cupboard. “There’s nothing here that feels like a packet of biscuits.”

“Really? I could have sworn I picked up a packet of hobnobs,” he said, distracted as he attempted to load everything onto a tray that seemed to have a reproduction of Constable’s _The Haywain_ printed on it. “Try the cupboard under the sink.”

“The cupboard under the... oh, _Doctor_.” Charley gave him a withering stare but went to look anyway. Naturally, the biscuits were there, though thankfully the usual accoutrements of that sort of storage area – mouse traps, cleaning products and other items of a chemical nature – were absent, as were it seemed the actual workings of the sink. The only other contents appeared to be a copy of Edward Gibbon’s _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ and a large tin of drinking chocolate. She found a plate and took the biscuits to the table.

“So, this milk substance,” C’rizz said as the Doctor poured the tea, “It’s actually juice from a cow, is that correct?”

Charley nearly dropped the biscuits. “C’rizz!”

“Well, it’s essentially true,” the Doctor reminded her.

“I know, but what a terrible way to describe it!” Charley wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think it would have caught on if we advertised it as ‘Cow Juice’!”

He chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know; I’m sure some enterprising marketing executive would have made it work.” He struck a pose, adopting a dramatic tone. “‘Cow Juice: for all your nutritional needs. Now with added moo!’”

“It’s a natural product, C’rizz,” Charley said, ignoring him. “The female cows produce it after they calve, to feed their young.”

“Not just cows; all mammals in fact,” the Doctor remarked as he picked up the sugar tongs.

“Well, you’re a mammal,” C’rizz pointed out, earning himself another arch of the eyebrow. “Does that mean Time Lords produce this milk too?”

Charley just looked at the Doctor, who suddenly seemed very interested in the battered table-top, tracing one of the grooves with a long finger. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ah, well, no, not any more. We’ve rather... moved beyond that. Humans, on the other hand...” He glanced up and pinned her with that sharp blue gaze, his voice dropping conspiratorially as a wicked grin played around his lips. “Technically, C’rizz, if Charley had just had a baby we could milk _her_.”

“ _Doctor_!” she cried, scandalised; there was a distinct gleam in his eye that made her glad he was back to his normal self but she also very much wanted to slap him for being so provoking.

C’rizz frowned. “This is all very confusing. Why would you want to drink the juice of another person?”

“We don’t,” Charley said firmly, slamming down the plate of biscuits within inches of the Doctor’s hand. He pulled it away just in time and shot her a wounded look which she countered with an innocent smile of her own. “In the main we stick to cows.”

“And goats. And occasionally sheep,” the Doctor added helpfully. “And Yaks in the Himalayas, of course.”

“Doctor, you’re just making it worse!” Charley turned back to C’rizz, who was starting to turn a funny colour. His eyes were beginning to cross as well. “Milk is very good for you, C’rizz; well, good for _us_ , at any rate. It contains all kinds of nutrients, and it’s all babies eat for the first few months of their life. Usually their mother’s, but if the mother can’t make enough to keep the baby fed they use cow’s milk instead as a substitute.”

C’rizz sighed and shook his head. “Mammals are very complicated.”

“Indeed they are,” the Doctor agreed. “But they’re also very resourceful and, thankfully for us, someone decided that milk, in addition to being beneficial to health and useful in making a really good Cheddar, tasted quite nice in a cup of tea.”

Charley knew the inevitable question was coming, so she busied herself with the crockery. “Doctor, I really don’t understand some of your terms,” C’rizz said. “What is a... what did you say? A.. Cheddar?”

“Hmm? Cheddar? Oh, Cheddar is a type of English cheese, very famous and delicious in its extra mature form with a few Jacobs’ crackers. I might still have some in the fridge; let me look.” The teapot was wavering in his hand so Charley confiscated it before it ended up on the floor in the sudden rush of enthusiasm that took him across the room to the refrigerator. “Cheese is another wonderful thing you can make from milk; aside from butter of course. There are so many varieties! And so many flavours and textures: hard, soft, those kinds that you leave in a barn for months until they’re full of blue bacteria - ”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” C’rizz admitted, pulling a face.

“No, I was never keen on Stilton, either.” Charley pushed a teacup towards him. “Here, try this and see what you think. There’s no milk in it; after all that I’m not sure if you should have any, just in case you _are_ lactose whatever-it-was.”

He took the cup, sniffing at it and recoiling slightly from the heat of the steam. “You actually like this?”

“Of course; I’ve been drinking it all my life. I think the Doctor would have it on one of those intravenous lines if he could. Go on,” she added with an encouraging smile, “Just try it. It won’t bite you.”

After a few moments of hesitation C’rizz squeezed his eyes shut and quickly took a sip. He shuddered slightly, like a child reluctantly swallowing medicine, and when he opened his eyes again he looked surprised. “It’s bitter,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“If it’s too bitter have some of this.” Charley nudged the sugar bowl in his direction and took two lumps for herself after he very gingerly dropped a sliver into his own cup. Her hand automatically stole towards the milk bottle, but she stopped herself just in time, reaching for one of the slices of lemon the Doctor had cut instead.

C’rizz frowned again. “You’re not having any milk?”

“No, not today. In fact,” Charley continued, listening to the Doctor rambling on about the different kinds of ‘big bugs with long, wavy legs’ to be found in various strong cheeses and ‘Cow Juice’ looming large in her memory, “I think I may well be drinking my tea black from now on.”

 


End file.
